Needfire

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

nothing is more exactly terrible than
to be alone in the house, with somebody and
with something)

You are gone. there is laughter

and despair impersonates a street

i lean from the window, behold ghosts
--
slightly i am hearing somebody
coming up stairs, carefully
(carefully climbing carpetedflight after
carpeted flight. in stillness,climbing
the carpeted stairs of terror)

and continually i am seeing something

inhaling gently a cigarette (in a mirror


-- excerpts from \"nothing is more exactly terrible than\"


-- e.e.cummings


Chapter 20 - The Visit


Late one night the week before Christmas, as she sat on his bed, leafing through one of his antique Potions texts -- a book of lust potions, which interested her greatly and caused her to give him sidelong, half-smiling glances -- she let slip how she\'d discovered that Snape and Minerva had owled her parents. He sat behind her, his chest snugly to her back, his legs around the outside of hers, toying idly with her hair and the ticklish places he had found, to make her skin shiver like that of Lucius\' beautiful horse when it twitched away flies. In recent weeks she had given up sneaking into the potions dungeon, and crept into his quarters instead. He had given her the passwords for his wards days ago so that she would not be caught outside his door in the dim late-night corridor, tapping and calling for him, or worse, doing strong magic to break his wards; he knew she could do it, and likely Dumbledore would be alerted. It was murderously difficult, giving up his privacy like this. But there seemed to be no keeping her away, and truthfully, he didn\'t wish to. He had gone so far as to tell the house elves to stay out of his rooms entirely, not to enter them for any reason, not even to clean, unless he called them.

\"Here, this one,\" she said now, running her index finger down the list of ingredients. \"We have everything we need to brew it. We wouldn\'t even have to go to Knockturn Alley to fetch something obscure. Hagrid will have the hippogriff tail hairs.\"

\"Hmm,\" he said, nuzzling beneath her ear. It was just there, behind her lobe, that she was both most ticklish and most fragrant. \"What potion is that.\"

\"It would make electricity come from our hands. Imagine the sensation.\" She caught the back of his head and pulled his face around, turning to slide her tongue between his lips.

He spoke against her mouth, but he knew she could feel his erection stirring against her back, pressing between them most unsubtly. \"Rather like being crawled over by hundreds of insects. No, thank you. Besides, it would be difficult to explain to your parents why their daughter is drugging herself to have electric sex with her professor.\"

\"You could simply owl them, as you did last time.\" She bit his lower lip in punishment, not very gently. Even so, Snape did not sense any change in the tension in her body; she was still relaxed.

\"What last time?\" He set the book away and turned her to face him, to deepen the kiss into something hotter, more erotic. Her yoga made her flexible...she was able, grinning, to lift her leg over and past his head as he turned her, and settle her moist heat against him with a wicked nestling wriggle, linking her ankles behind him. \"Merlin, Hermione.\" His thumbs brushed over her nipples and she arched forward.

\"Before...you know. That time in your office, with the scalpel.\" She reached between them, and in only moments he was sheathed in her, and she was helping him rock the two of them, in excruciating slowness.

\"So they told you we\'d owled?\"

\"They owled me back, plans for Christmas...plans for therapy...Snape, stop talking...move like...like this.\"

\"I -- Hermione, I can\'t move quite -- how you want me to move --\"

\"You could if you would do yoga with me in the mornings.\" With a small smile, she took pity on him and allowed him to lie back on his bed. This time, she did the hard work. For a while he forgot what she\'d let slip, groaning beneath her, shuddering to his climax more than once that evening as her interior muscles clenched him fiercely.

Snape did not forget for long, though. Two days later, still several days before Christmas Eve, he slipped off to Hermione\'s private Head Girl\'s room. He did it when he knew she was in the Room of Requirement with Harry, also remaining at Hogwarts over the winter break, practicing obscure magic and formations in some pointless attempt to be prepared for Voldemort. As if anyone could be prepared for that monster, though if any pair had a chance, it was that one. He carefully brought down her wards, noting them so that he could replace them.

Once inside, he looked around. On her bed, that vile Kneazle, Crookshanks, arched at him and spat. Snape pointed his wand at the cat, who skittered under the bed and glared at him balefully. Apparently the Kneazle knew about wands and the dangers they represented. Everything was fanatically neat in her room; she kept it much the way he kept his quarters; spare, tidy, with very few items out on the flat surfaces of the desk or night tables. Her small bookshelf was filled to bursting, however, and he went towards it. He hoped the letter was not stashed inside of one of her many books. He glanced at a few of the titles and realized she was very well read. Both Muggle and wizard literature and scientific works were much in evidence, as well as a few lurid paperback mysteries, horror novels, and other popular fiction, including what looked like romances, with idealized cover paintings of heroic men and women in various stages of undress. Is this where you find your ideas about sex, is this where you learned how to make love? Perhaps I should borrow one or two and see for myself.

If I were sixteen -- sixteen, Snape! so very young -- where would I keep a letter from my hated parents? Or would I have destroyed it? There were not many secret places in the room, as far as he could see. He crossed to her work desk and peered inside her spare cauldron: squeaky clean, but empty. He began opening desk drawers, not sure what to look for. Eventually it occurred to him to try summoning the letter. He shook his head at his own stupidity. \"Accio letter from Hermione\'s parents.\"

And of course it did the trick. There was a brushing sound from one of the desk drawers, and a plain folder slithered out. Snape caught it before it could open and spill its contents. And there, inside, was a pristine envelope among other, more worn and well-read papers, parchments and letters, with a smiling tooth high in one corner, and careful, looping script addressed to Hermione. He opened it, briefly checking the date and some of the content. Yes. This is what I seek. Details of Christmas plans, now moot. He tucked the letter into the pocket of his robes, and returned the folder to the desk drawer. Snape left the room, restoring her wards.

Now, to go someplace she would not find him, and read the letter in absolute privacy for a change. Momentarily, tucked into a small supply room near the Transfiguration class, Snape lit his wand and leaned his back against the door.

\"Dearest Daughter,

\"Your father and I were extremely concerned to be informed that you are having difficulties coping with the stresses of your final year at Hogwarts. According to what Professors McGonagall and Snape have written us, there has been a recurrence of the symptoms you experienced when you were eight.

All right, so far, thought Snape, but your daughter has a name. It\'s Hermione. And Merlin, this...uncleanness...has happened before. Merlin. Eight years old. Oh, Hermione.

\"My disappointment at hearing this from your Professors would hardly come as a surprise to you, and I would express my wish, again, that you would have come to me with your problems, seeking for solace and advice. I might not be in a position to fully understand what you are experiencing, but I am still your mother, and I want to see you happy. With your welfare in mind, I have contacted a therapist who comes highly recommended by Emily Drummond. Her name is Imogene Severn and she is at the top of her profession. You may remember Emily\'s son Nigel, who experienced something similar to your problem. Dr. Severn helped him through and past his issues, and I am sure she can help you, since she specializes in teenagers. She has agreed to meet you over the winter break, in several intensive sessions, two sessions per week.

Good, I see that you wish to help your daughter. A point or two to you, loving mother that you must be, but it won\'t make up for the years of not guarding my Gryffindor closely enough.

\"We must see to this problem at once; nothing must taint your good grades thus far. We still expect you to pass your Salamanders later this year with flying colors. Therefore when you come home, your father and I will be waiting to help you. Your father is clearing his calendar of patients for the few days before and after Christmas so that he can be with you during this difficult time. I will continue running the clinic. We will of course forego our skiing holiday in the Alps, should that prove necessary.

Salamanders. Imagine. Muggle dentists, never bothering to listen, to understand what their daughter is doing here at school, yet still requiring her to do well. And daddy, clearing his calendar, while mummy is away. Snape scowled deeply at the letter in his hands. Daddy, wanting to be alone with his darling daughter. Over my corpse, perhaps, but not before. What does this Severn woman have planned for my pet? For surely I know what Daddy has planned -- the very same things I have planned. Snape closed his eyes briefly. He was no better than her father, except for that little detail, the one that kept stunning him, sneaking up from the back of his brain in unguarded moments to prod him in a vulnerable spot: Hermione had in some way chosen him for her own. Yes; and perhaps I you, as well. To your detriment, I fear.

\"Darling, don\'t let this little set-back affect your grades. We have high expectations of you, which I know you share. I\'m certain if you simply spend more time studying and less time worrying about yourself, you will be better soon.

A little set back. Study harder. Put more pressure on yourself. Hermione, have you never told them about Harry, about Voldemort?

\"We are well here, and the clinic is doing nicely, as always. We will be at the station to collect you in a few weeks. \"

It was signed, \"With affection, Mummy and Dad\" in that same precise, curling script. Affection, but no love, no well wishes, no expression of a desire to come and see their daughter before break. In Snape\'s prior experiences with students, normal parents came running when a letter from Hogwarts arrived expressing concern. Instead, (his eyes scanned the clinic letterhead, looking for names...ah, yes) Donna and Lester send their daughter an owl, demanding she work harder, instead of contacting the school for more information. A growl bubbled up from his throat. He folded the letter back into its envelope and stuffed it into a pocket of his robes.

Still...impressions were at odds in his brain. Clearly Donna loved her daughter. But equally clearly Hermione feared or hated or dreaded her parents. He must somehow convince Minerva it was necessary to visit the Grangers, and find a way to tag along with her. He must see for himself what went on in that perfect house, reconcile the two stories in his mind.

He thought back to the story he and Hermione had devised to allow her to remain at Hogwarts over Christmas. Hermione had explained to her Head of House and her friends that Donna and Lester had unexpectedly been called away. Snape and Hermione had owled the Grangers to explain that the symptoms seemed to be lessening without treatment (this was true, but Snape knew it was the escalation of his relationship with Hermione that was responsible for the apparent healing). Hermione expressed her wish to stay at Hogwarts over the holidays to study more intensively without the distraction of classes and Head Girl responsibilities.

It did not bother Snape in the least to lie bald-faced to the Grangers.

Lying to Minerva, however, was another thing altogether. Next to Angharad, Minerva was the person Snape respected most on his short list of...friends. Yes, he supposed Minerva was his friend. He had so few that up until now he could number them on one hand. Angharad, Lily (at one point), Minerva. Flitwick, to a lesser extent; the Charms professor tolerated Snape well, conversed with him often, and was his occasional ally in pranks against Minerva. Lucius, in some strange and long-ago way. Snape did not count Dumbledore; though he respected the Headmaster of Hogwarts, he was not fond of the devious old man, no matter how well-intentioned he was. His machinations were distressing to Snape personally, and appeared now to be endangering students.

And now, his sixth friend (and lover), Hermione, beginning a new hand for his counting. Something inside him broke a little. At all costs, she must not be hurt anymore.

I thought you loved my library. He had meant it sarcastically, that dawn in the snow, to make a point.

Hermione: \"I love you more.\" She had spiked his guns with those simple words; he\'d had nothing else to say, and was not able to keep his feelings out of his face. Thankfully she had let him off the hook, moving on to other topics, the war, killing Voldemort. Harry and love. Lily\'s boy...and Lucius\' boy. How very, very dangerous for Potter.

The tremendous power of her words. That power shook him all the way from his hooked nose to his long, pale feet, lingering longest in his gut and heart, doing damage there, damage he would never be able to repair. She had crept beneath his skin weeks ago; now, she was dwelling in one chamber of his heart, obstructing his blood flow, yet becoming his oxygen.

He pinched his nose hard between thumb and forefinger, closing his eyes for a moment or two, before he left the supply room and headed for Minerva\'s office.

Minerva was tidying her desk, now that there were no papers to grade. Several brightly wrapped packages and wizard crackers were scattered on a work table near the windows. \"Severus! How nice to see you. How are your Christmas preparations coming along?\"

\"You know I do not celebrate,\" he growled at her, lounging in his preferred chair.

\"Yet you always manage to find a small token for me, and for Flitwick.\" She smiled down at her desk, putting away papers.

\"Obligations, trifles, nothing more,\" he mumbled. \"Minerva.\"

She looked up, her hands stilling at his serious tone. \"What is it, Severus?\"

\"I...find I must speak to you yet again regarding Miss Granger.\"

Minerva sat forward. \"But her hands look better,\" she said. \"And she could not go home for the winter break because her parents would be called away during the time Hermione would be home, and it would not be good for her to be there alone --\"

\"I know about all that,\" he said. \"Minerva.\" He simply could not get it out.

\"You\'re alarming me,\" she said quickly.

\"Yes, I can see that. All right. Out with it, then. Minerva, something is wrong between Herm-- Miss Granger and her parents. Something, I think, that has to do with what\'s wrong with her hands, all the stress.\"

\"Whatever do you mean? Do you think her parents are the cause of her problems?\"

\"Actually, I rather think I do. Or at least, Miss Granger perceives them that way.\"

Minerva sat back, looking at him, assessing him. \"Well. And just how, cruel and unfair Slytherin Professor Snape, did you obtain such very personal information about Hogwarts\' Gryffindor Head Girl, and I did not?\"

His lips thinned. Minerva was too astute. Tread carefully, Snape. \"Did I not tell you I\'ve been giving her extra tutoring? She seemed to feel she needed additional training.\" Cautiously, he told the truth, but not all of it. Not what kind of training he had given Hermione.

\"And so you have set her additional tasks, but that does not explain how you came to hear such personal information. Did you overhear her talking to Harry, or Ron?\"

It would be easy to say \"Yes\" to that question, but it would be lying, and he was in her presence now, and did not think he could lie to her successfully. \"I hate to admit this,\" he said, \"because if word got about it would be my ruin.\" Indeed, Snape. \"But she makes a very able assistant, and we have become...friends...of a sort. We have shared...confidences.\" And a bed. And a breakdown.

\"Dear me,\" said Minerva, blinking. This was definitely a shock to her. Snape had never before befriended a student, much less a Gryffindor. \"And she told you all that.\"

\"No. Over the weeks, she has mentioned a few things, and I have put them together, but here is the thing: I\'m not sure I\'m right. But if I am, Miss Granger should not go home again until the situation can be resolved.\"

\"I can see you have a plan already. Tell me what you want to do about this, Severus.\"

\"I want us to go to the Grangers, Minerva. You, and I. I want us to assess the situation.\"

\"Just...apparate there, march in, and demand to know how they\'ve been ill-treating their daughter?\"

Yes. \"No, of course not. An interview, of sorts. That\'s why I need you to come along. You\'re her Head of House.\"

\"And your role in this interview would be...?\"

\"Interested observer.\" One who can use Legilimens effectively, subtly, carefully.

Minerva folded her hands on her desk and looked at him a long, long time. Snape began to fidget. \"I...cannot say no,\" she finally said. \"You\'ve never asked me for anything like this before, so I can\'t discount your instincts, but oh, Severus. You\'re asking me to lie to Hermione\'s parents.\"

\"Not at all. If there is lying to be done, I will do it. I am the Slytherin, not you.\" His lips parted in an unholy smile that made her wince. \"I merely want you to be my entree to their home, and be your charming self. Let me do the prowling. But, we must go soon, before they leave for the Continent.\"

~*~

Two days later, Snape and Minerva Floo\'d to a Ministry of Magic branch office in Kent, and then took a Muggle cab to the Grangers\' house. Never having been there before, it was not possible to apparate. They were expected, having owled earlier. Snape had not told Hermione he was going to see her parents; she would not like it when she found out, and this time he would tell her. The results of her finding out on her own last time had been disastrous.

The Grangers\' house was lovely, a white cottage with balanced windows and blue drapery shining out into the winter sunlight. Late-season heather bushes bloomed next to the porch, pale pinkish purple against the white paint and the whiter snow. Snape\'s lip curled at its staid, suburban Muggle beauty. What stain did such perfection hide within its walls? You could at least try to remain unbiased, Snape, he chided himself. Christmas garlands twined their way along the porch railings, and a wreath of holly and ivy and red ribbon adorned the front door.

Donna answered their knock, and welcomed Snape and Minerva graciously, eyeing their strange appearances askance, but still hospitably ushering them into the parlor. Snape found Hermione\'s large brown eyes in Donna\'s face, and the wings of her eyebrows. There too was Hermione\'s delicacy of face, though not the rest of Donna\'s features, and not her hair. The woman was perfectly groomed, dressed in a lovely tweed suit that, unlike Minerva\'s rumpled and comfortable skirts, had probably never seen a wrinkle. The wood floor of the entryway was so polished that Snape could see a dim, white gleam, the reflection of his face, as he looked down.

And then, in the parlor -- Hermione\'s father. Lester rose from his leather armchair, striding to shake hands with the Hogwarts professors. Snape felt his grip, strong, warm, sincere. There was nothing harmful to read in the man\'s handsome appearance, and everything about him spoke of confidence, security, and intelligence. The man had at least five years on Snape, probably more. He was trim, strong, and still handsome, physically more impressive than Snape would ever be. His hair was greying slightly, in a distinguished manner, the silvering sprinkled evenly through the chestnut. In Lester\'s strong and well-cut waves, Snape could clearly see where Hermione got her bushy hair, though its color was a palette mixed of Donna\'s and Lester\'s.

Donna rustled about the parlor, seating their guests and offering tea, which Minerva and Snape accepted. Minerva sipped at hers; Snape allowed his to sit and grow cold. There was no lemon on the tea tray, and he felt ill at ease.

Donna was the first to speak. \"We\'re so glad you came, Lester and I. It\'s good to see that there\'s such concern for our daughter\'s welfare.\"

\"Indeed,\" agreed Lester, his voice deep and educated. \"I\'ve long wanted to meet some of my daughter\'s teachers. We\'ve only met a few in the wizarding world; the Weasleys, of course, and some of the folk in Diagon Alley, each year when we take Hermione for school supplies.\"

Donna settled tidily on a leather hassock near Lester. She nodded to Minerva. \"You must be Professor McGonagall, Hermione\'s Head of House.\"

\"Yes.\" Minerva sipped again. \"And this is Professor Snape.\"

\"What subject do you teach?\" asked Lester, with great interest. \"We know Professor McGonagall teaches Transfigurations.\"

\"Your daughter is my Advanced Potions student.\"

Lester\'s eyes lit up. \"Potions! So you\'re the Potions Master Hermione has told us so much about.\"

That caught Snape\'s attention. \"Really?\" What does my lover tell her parents about the evil Slytherin Potions Master?

\"Do tell,\" said Minerva, glancing at Snape.

\"Well, frankly -- it was all very complimentary. You\'re brilliant, she says, quite the researcher, very strict, high standards for your students, difficult topics, very challenging. How is my daughter doing in your class?\"

\"Miss Granger has been at the top of my class since she came to Hogwarts.\"

Lester looked proud. \"That\'s my girl,\" he said.

Donna folded her hands. \"But you\'re not here to tell us how well our daughter is doing, are you.\"

While Minerva began to broach the subject of Hermione\'s present difficulties, Snape sat back against the sofa to take himself further from the conversation at hand and let Minerva take that lead, so he could start focusing on Legilimency. Donna seemed the more transparent of the two, with her clear eyes, careful coif, and bright lipstick. Her hands were perfectly manicured, pale, clean, and whole. Not Hermione\'s hands at all. But as Donna turned her head to one side, Snape saw Hermione again in the shape of her ears, small, neat and pink. Her parents had been stirred together into the fine cocktail that was Hermione. He slowly began establishing a tentative connection via a very quiet Legilimens, with Donna.

\"Well, Professor Snape brought the issue to my attention last month. Frankly, I\'m embarrassed to say that I thought Hermione\'s hands were raw because she\'s working on intense and caustic potions. But I should have known Professor Snape would have taught her to be more careful than that.\"

In Donna\'s mind, he found images of Hermione as a little girl, bright, cheerful, charming, a doll. There was affection, concern, and anxiety that Hermione\'s condition would reflect unfavorably upon Donna in some way. As though Donna were living through her child, and Snape and Minerva were finding fault with her because her daughter was unstable. Nothing unexpected, given what Snape had read in her letter to Hermione. The only odd thing he noticed was that Lester was not prominent in Donna\'s thoughts, except as an adornment, a figurehead. He found images of handsome Lester at parties, at social events, but little affection. Primarily Snape saw impressions of herself, and her daughter, and concern for her child. Only a sense of \"I\" and \"my daughter\" and never \"we.\" He withdrew gently and set his teacup and saucer on the small table beside him.

\"Something more is wrong with Hermione than a simple skin reaction, and from your letter to her we gathered that this has occurred before.\" Minerva knew this much from Snape\'s briefing in the cab on the way to the Grangers\'.

Donna flushed. \"Well, yes -- it has.\" Her hands twisted in her lap and she looked at Lester, as if for guidance. Lester said nothing, and Snape shifted his attention to the man.

\"Please tell us more,\" Minerva prompted. \"That is, if you feel you can, without violating Hermione\'s privacy.\"

Oh, well played, Minerva. Yes, now you, Snape thought, looking at Lester, reluctantly feeling a grudging respect for the man, instead of disgust. Lester\'s conversation was intelligent and well presented. His brain seemed as crystalline as Lucius\'; Snape found himself wondering if Hermione\'s father would have been sorted into Slytherin, a jewel like the Malfoys, had he been a wizard. Or perhaps a Ravenclaw, frighteningly bright and orderly. Lester\'s hands, as Minerva spoke, first lay calmly in his lap. As the conversation deepened and drifted into the area Snape most needed it to go -- Hermione\'s relationship with her parents -- Lester\'s hands crept out to clutch his knees. And there, in those very masculine fingers, Snape found Hermione\'s hands, in a much larger, harsher version. Lester\'s hands were very capable looking, strong, rather square, with large thumbs and broad palms.

Legilimens was not as easy as it had been with Donna; Lester was on his guard, waiting to hear what Minerva had to say about his daughter. Eventually Snape found a way in, watching as Lester gave his head a small shake and looked at Snape, who met his gaze calmly, blinking not at all. Lester smiled gently.

Donna spoke. \"Well...it was all very strange, we never got to the root cause, I believe, but after some treatment it just seemed to...stop.\"

Minerva frowned slightly. \"We\'ve been wondering, Professor Snape and I, if Hermione\'s been getting along with the two of you lately? We understand these teenage years can be very rough, and the seventh year at Hogwarts is a demanding one. With Hermione being almost a year younger than most of her classmates, she might be feeling pressure...\" Minerva\'s blather was soothing to the Grangers, and yet probed well for Snape and his Legilimency, leading Lester\'s mind to memories of times past, events, pressures, problems.

\"What about her boyfriend...Ron, is it?\" asked Donna carefully.

Yes! thought Snape. Yes, go there, Donna. A slow burn began to bubble in Lester, and Snape rode that rising tension, seeking a downward slope into a memory.

\"Well, you may or may not know...that relationship appears to have ended. Hermione broke it off, but it seems to have restored them to some sort of equal footing. We felt it was a positive thing. But the problems with her hands and arms have continued past that.\" Minerva finished her tea and set the empty cup aside. Donna immediately refilled the cup, looking at Snape questioningly, who shook his head.

Lester was patently relieved that Hermione and Ron were no longer seeing each other. Snape caught just the fringe of a memory brushing by, a puppy-soft and young Hermione creeping into Lester\'s lap, arms about his neck, his strong arms about her, settling her close. Love there. Love, yes, and...the lurking beginnings of something more. Some longing, some loneliness. Some lack of...was it Donna, that Lester lacked? Perhaps.

Lester spoke. \"Were they sleeping together? That might have brought about this most recent outbreak.\" Ah, jealousy. Just like mine...I recognize that troubling emotion. Snape\'s hands clenched in his lap and he covered one with the other to calm himself. He fought hard to keep his lip from curling in revulsion.

Minerva colored. \"Well, I don\'t know the answer to that question, Mr. Granger --\"

Donna interjected. \"If they were, I know Hermione was being careful. She mentioned she was already using contraception. I\'ve told you this before, dear.\"

Lester blinked at his wife, and looked at Snape. \"And what have you to offer, sir?\"

\"I am not privy to the details of Miss Granger\'s former love life,\" he said carefully. Minerva slid him a sharp glance. Lester\'s attention shifted to Minerva. Snape refocused his efforts, beginning a more active search through memories instead of just tasting those that the conversation surfaced.

\"If not her professor, nor her Head of House, then who would be privy?\" demanded Lester. \"Who is watching the children there at that school? Who is protecting my daughter from the predations of young men who --\" He broke off, and suddenly Snape had what he needed: a wave, a virtual flood of memories.

Lester, taking his daughter by the hand to the candy shop, to share smiles. Donna, turning away from Lester, absorbed in dressing her child as a miniature adult, in stockings and tight shoes. Lester, helping his small daughter with her shoes, tying the laces, sliding a hand farther than necessary up a childishly round leg, beneath the edge of a pleated plaid skirt, and squeezing the tenderness there. Lester, sucking a smear of chocolate from a small carbon-copy of his own square hand. Donna, choosing a separate bedroom, needing her rest. Lester, his sweet girl in his lap, a nail from one of those large thumbs rasping across a girlish nipple beneath a tricot shirt. Donna, uninterested in talking over a research paper, absorbed in her child\'s therapy. Hermione, joyfully sharing her Hogwarts letter at age ten, swung happily in circles by her father. Lester, with Hermione perhaps twelve or thirteen, breasts budding sweetly, sobbing in his lap dressed in summer shorts and sleeveless shirt, her forearms bandaged, and Lester kissing her sweaty neck, rocking her, soothing her. Hermione, showing her father her schoolbooks, wishing she could show him her magic over the summers, sharing her knowledge of her new world. Donna, her back to him, her entire world her child and the dental clinic. Hermione, listening to Lester\'s music and discussing it with him. And finally, Lester, creeping into a darkened room, sitting on the edge of a narrow bed, pushing curling hair back from a face flushed with sleep, wishing he dared do more than just look and sometimes touch. Longing for comfort, for an intellectual equal, for assurance. And love, always, always, love. Overwhelming and huge, and confused.

Snape rose and left the room abruptly. Legilimens was ended.

Minerva strove for calmness. \"You\'ll have to excuse him,\" he heard her say as he left the room. \"Travel disagrees with him.\"

Outside the Grangers\' lovely house, Snape vomited what was left of his breakfast into their well-kept flower bed, splattering the winter heather. He walked to the end of the drive and stood waiting for Minerva. He could not go back inside.

When, eventually, Minerva emerged, Snape said nothing. He could not speak. He wrapped his arms around her and apparated them both to Diagon Alley. From here they could easily return to Hogwarts by Floo, but Minerva stayed him as he reached for the doorknob of the Leaky Cauldron.

\"Snape.\"

He stared at his feet.

\"Did you get your information? Did you get what you went there for?\"

\"That, and too much more.\"

\"Meaning...?\"

\"Hermione\'s parents love her, very much.\"

\"I could have told you that.\"

\"But they are not healthy for her, either. The mother is distant and cold and self-involved, defining herself by how her child is perceived. The father...well, there are issues that concern me there. I don\'t want to speak more of it. Let it suffice that the right choice was made in allowing Hermione to remain at Hogwarts this holiday.\"

Minerva stared at him, as he looked at the ground. He could tell she was waiting for him to say more; he knew there was much more she wanted to ask, but would not. Not just now, at any rate. Finally she said, \"You can make your own way back, can\'t you? I want to do some Christmas shopping before I leave.\"

\"I\'ll be fine alone,\" he said.

\"Yes,\" said Minerva. \"You always are.\" And she left him, vanishing in the holiday throng of the alley.

Snape leaned against the wall of the Leaky Cauldron, trying to recover. It seemed his worst moments revolved around the front door of this damnable pub. Finally rousing himself, he decided he should find a few gifts as well. Perhaps thinking about the holiday would push the Grangers out of his mind, for a while. Something feminine and frivolous for Minerva, a new swizzle stick for Flitwick\'s odd little collection (the Charms professor could make almost anything work as a wand, though he did no wandless magic), and something for his apprentice. She needed her own sickle, and a netsuke to trap it in her rope belt, no matter what she thought of his goddess and his god. Though, Merlin knew, after he confessed to her where he\'d been today, she would walk out of his life for good, and his gifts might go ungiven.

~*~

That evening, when Hermione let herself into his quarters and took his book away so that she could sit in his lap, Snape stood abruptly and pushed her aside.

\"No.\" He moved to stare into the fireplace, where he had tossed some crystals of copper compounds to make the flames burn blue. \"Hermione, I have something to tell you. You won\'t like it, and I won\'t mind if you\'re angry.\"

She sat down, hard, on the arm of the chair he had just vacated. \"What? Snape, what?\"

He turned to face her; he owed her that much. \"I went to see your parents today. I forced Minerva to go with me.\"

There was a long moment of frozen calm, then the eruption. \"You fucking did what?\" She was up off the chair in an instant, her wand out, pointing at him.

\"Protego,\" he said, drawing his own wand. \"Strike me, kick me, if you wish, but I will not let you use your wand against me.\"

\"You\'d like me to hit you, wouldn\'t you? It would make you feel real again. Make you normal, make you bleed. Make you feel something. You bastard.\"

He put his hand in his pocket and took out the letter, and held it out to her. When she saw what it was, she snatched it away and threw it into the heart of the fire, where it blazed red and orange and gold.

\"I went into your room, and I took that letter. I read it.\"

Hermione stalked away; he could see her arms wrapping tightly around herself; she was trembling, and he didn\'t know whether it was with grief, or fury, or fear. \"And so?\" she said.

\"I was confused by what I read. Your mother\'s letter...it was...stilted, a little cold, but loving.\"

\"My mother loves me. Don\'t you speak to me about my mother, Snape, you lying Slytherin prick.\"

\"She loves you, yes, so it seems.\" He moved towards her slowly. \"Yet I know what I saw, that day in my office, that day with the scalpel. I know what I heard, what you think.\"

\"Touch me and I promise you\'ll be wearing your cock around your neck! Remember, I don\'t threaten.\"

Snape stopped, only feet from her. \"Hermione, I had to know their truth, as well as your truth, to be able to help you.\"

She spun. \"And what was their truth, Snape? Is it the same as your truth, Hermione is a basket case, a fool, a paranoid maniac, a liar?\" Her rage was truly astonishing. And so was her clarity. She was completely in control.

\"Their truth...,\" he said, hesitating. \"They do love you. But they don\'t know what to do about you, they are like poultry raising an ermine hatched from a phoenix egg, something swift and beautifully feral and deadly to their kind in their midst. And your father -- your father --\" he stopped, unable to continue. His hands began to lift towards her. She struck them away brutally. Now her eyes filled with tears.

\"My father loves me! I love my father!\" The control slipped, but only for a moment.

\"Yes, he loves you. Yet he touches you like I do, like a lover would. He needs your mind, he longs for it, as I need it and long for it. He wants you for himself, and yet he gave you this, he gave you Hogwarts and a life as a witch.\" He lifted his hands again, but now he did not look at her, he looked at his hands. \"I saw what he wanted, there in his mind. I saw what he did. I saw what...what...\" he had to pause to swallow; his gorge was rising again. \"I saw what he took from you. Not your virginity, but certainly your innocence.\" He hissed the last words and walked into the bathroom, slamming the door behind himself, and vomited for the second time that day. I am no better than Lester, was the only thought in his head.

Angharad: \"Severus, the truth this time. Why did you begin to curse your father, there in the Circle?\"

\"Because I hate him for what he did. What he was doing when I saw him in your mirror. What he has always done.\" Severus was again kneeling at her feet. He wanted to put his head in her lap. There was comfort there, comfort that he had rarely known, even as a child. Only on those rare occasions that his father left Severus and his mother alone in the house. Sweet, milky tea, and lovely biscuits, and games, and her soft arms around him, and kisses on his forehead.

\"And you think cursing him will make you whole?\"

\"It will bring me peace.\"

\"It will bring you nothing.\"

\"It will avenge my mother. It will free her.\"

\"I say again, Severus, it will bring you nothing lasting. It is false.\"

Now he did put his head in her lap, and wrapped his arms around her lower legs. \"I cannot forgive him, Angharad.\"

\"I did not say you could, I only said you must. There is a difference.\" Her hands, warm, strong, gnarled, rested on his head.

\"Must implies could.\"

\"It does not. My apprentice, when you let go of that hatred, you will forgive. What he did to you was terrible, damnable, but it is not for you to punish him.\"

\"I will hate him always.\"

\"Then you will hurt others always. Until that ghost is gone from your soul, you will hurt others.\"

\"Then I will simply be alone.\"

\"You will not. Someday there will come one that you do not wish to hurt. And when that time comes you will find that must must equal could, or you will lose that one as well. \"

That time was now, Snape feared. He stared at himself in the mirror over the sink, gripping the porcelain hard, and stooped to rinse his mouth. He had wanted her to strike him, to fight with him, to beat him for his actions. To hurt him, because he was hurting her.

There was a knock on the bathroom door. Snape turned to look, and as he turned, the door opened.

\"You\'ve been sick,\" Hermione said bluntly, indicating the mess in the basin. Snape turned the water on with more force to rinse the mess away.

\"Yes.\"

\"Because I make you sick?\" She still looked angry, he saw.

\"Because of what I saw, because of what I did, because of the hurt I have caused you.\" Snape could see she had never expected to hear that from him; she stared, her mouth slowly gaping open, blinking. She bit her lips and turned her face away from him, leaning hard against the lintel of the bathroom door, but she didn\'t leave the room. \"I know you love your parents. I don\'t understand how that can be. I don\'t love my own parents.\"

\"You loved your mother.\"

\"My mother was weak.\"

\"Your mother didn\'t save you from him, that\'s all. Well, neither did mine. What does that make the two of us? Twins? Lovers? Strangers?\" Her laughter was bitter. She moved to stand behind him, close against him, her hands over the tops of his as they clenched on the sides of the basin. \"Look at us. Just look.\" She peered into the mirror with him, her face protruding from behind him, somewhere between his elbow and his shoulder; she was so slight when compared to his tall, thin frame. Their eyes met in the mirror.

\"Leave me be, Hermione,\" he said. \"I am not fit. I am no better than your father. I want what he wanted.\"

\"I will not leave you be,\" she told him now. She slid around his body, her arms at his waist, coming between him and the sink, ducking under his thin arm. \"I am clear on this one thing, Snape, this thing that you cannot get past. I know that you are not my father. I know the difference in your touch.\"

\"How can you.\" His voice was tired. \"You know no other way.\"

\"You will not want to hear this, but I do know another way. I have known Ron. I have known the touch of love, love that was not my father\'s sort of love.\"

\"Weasley again.\"

\"Yes, Weasley again! Learn to deal with it!\" Her voice grew hotter. \"He was my first, not you. Though -- that night, after we first called the Needfire -- was the first time I had ever made love, do you see what I mean? You called it seduction, but Snape -- it was making love. And not my father\'s love. I want you for my lover, Snape, not my father.\"

He leaned his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. Oh, I want to believe you.

Hermione put her palms to his cheeks, lifting his head to look into his eyes. \"This night, I will hold you. Now let\'s wash your face,\" she added softly. \"This will not do. Then I\'m taking you to bed where it\'s warm.\"